


On A White Horse

by miragoat



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Confused Khadgar, Jousting, LionTrust, Lothar thinks he's smooth, M/M, Tournaments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 03:11:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7873894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miragoat/pseuds/miragoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d been waiting weeks for this.  Tournament season.</p><p>When he was young, he’d been a tournament champion many times.  Llane had always placed bets on him, so certain was his chance of winning.  Even now, while he wasn’t a young man anymore, he spent day after day training his men, and he was in the shape to win.  Better yet, this was his element, and the perfect chance to impress a certain young mage.</p><p>Oh yes.  Khadgar wouldn’t be able to resist him once he saw him jousting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On A White Horse

The outskirts of Stormwind were littered with tents as more and more men arrived from all across Azeroth, bringing with them their horses and their armor and their squires and anything else they thought they needed to take the field. Inside the city, the streets were packed with people buying meat and cheese and begging blacksmiths for last minute armor repairs before the shops closed down. The smell of sweaty men was overwhelming as Lothar shoved his way through the crowd, a Stormwind guard at each side.

He’d been waiting _weeks_ for this. Tournament season.

When he was young, he’d been a tournament champion many times. Llane had always placed bets on him, so certain was his chance of winning. Even now, while he wasn’t a young man anymore, he spent day after day training his men, and he was in the shape to win. Better yet, this was his element, and the perfect chance to impress a certain young mage.

Oh yes. Khadgar wouldn’t be able to _resist_ him once he saw him jousting.

The mage sat at his side while he worked to polish his armor so that it looked new. He wanted it to shine when the sun shined on him. He was the Lion of Stormwind, and he would look like it when he entered the list field. There were no dents in his tournament armor, but if there were, he would have fixed that too. When he was done, he strapped it on piece by piece, taking care to see that the leather straps were secured. He couldn’t afford to get hurt.

“I still don’t understand why you’re doing this,” Khadgar said. “Why would you dress for war and ride out on your finest horses just to poke at each other with sticks for sport?”

“They’re not _sticks_ ,” Lothar said. “They’re _lances_. It’s a game of skill. It keeps us ready for war when the time comes.”

“Training is to prepare you for war, and you do that every day with your men. This isn’t for war; there’s too much pageantry. I didn’t think that you liked gaudy displays.”

“I don’t!” he snapped. “It isn’t gaudy. It’s grand and chivalric, and I’m going to win it for my king and my people. Maybe once you get your nose out of a book long enough to watch, you’ll understand why everyone is so excited.” With that, he strapped on his gorget and took a step toward the tent flap. “See to it that you’re there, bookworm.”

When he rode out on his destrier, the crowd cheered for their hero, the Lion of Stormwind. He watched his opponent, some Knight of the Silver hand, pace the field with his fine black stallion. He was a young man. The face plate of his helmet was up, revealing a handsome face and a strong jaw. Too bad Lothar didn’t fear handsome faces. More often, he ruined them.

The knight slowed his pace as he examined the crowd, and his eyes rested somewhere near King Llane. For a moment, Lothar wondered if he would be so bold as to declare that he would fight for Taria, but instead he held a hand out to Khadgar.

 _This can’t be happening._ He advanced to stop the idiot before he could do anything more.

“I don’t understand what you’re asking,” Khadgar said. “Did you want me to enchant something so that you would win? I didn’t think that was allowed.”

The knight smiled. “Nothing like that. It’s a tradition. We ask someone to give us a favor, a token to carry, so that by fighting we can bring honor to them. Many would ask for the favor of a lovely lady, but you’re just as lovely, and I would be honored to fight for you this day.”

“He’s not giving you anything, kid,” Lothar said. “He doesn’t even see the point of the joust. Go on, take your place so I can ride you down.”

The knight had the good sense to look ashamed as he rode away. Lothar raised his brows at Khadgar. “Stay out of trouble or you’ll end up in his tent when it’s all over without your clothes on.”

As he turned his horse to take his place, Khadgar called out to him. Lothar turned. Khadgar extended an arm, and in his hand was a strip of mageweave cloth in the colors of the Kirin Tor. “It’s for luck, right? Take it. You’ll win one way or another.”

Lothar took care to tie it to his lance. “Thanks, kid.”

He took his place and afforded himself a final glance toward Khadgar. After that, he could have no further distractions, nothing but the charge and his too-pretty opponent and the lance in his hands and the horse beneath him. This was familiar to him, not like politics or the business with the fel. He would win.

His horse moved swiftly as he charged down the list field toward his opponent. The man looked comfortable on his horse, but his confidence made him too large of a target, and Lothar was able to hit him with precise aim when they came close to each other. He watched the man fall from his horse and hit the ground with a _thud_. He heard the crowd cheer, but the adrenaline was still coursing through him.

Round after round, he would go on to do the same, and round after round, he was declared the winner. He was pleased that he had won the prize, pleased that Stormwind would be seen as victorious. He wandered back to Khadgar, needing to know if the young mage finally understood what the tournament was about.

“What do you think?”

Khadgar shrugged. “It was alright.”

“Alright? Just alright? Did you _see_ the way Sir Dirtface got unhorsed? That didn’t just _happen_. That took _years_ of training and careful aim and timing. I did that time after time. How are you not impressed right now?”

Khadgar shrugged. “I’ve seen you kill orcs twice your size. This doesn’t really compare.”

Lothar sighed. “This is _not_ how this was supposed to go.”

“How was it supposed to go?”

“Well,” Lothar said as he pulled Khadgar along. “You were going to watch the joust, and you would see me _destroying_ my competition. You would be so impressed by my prowess that you’d come with me to my tent, help get me out of this armor and let me show you my _favorite_ part of tournament season.”

“Which is?”

Lothar leaned in to whisper in Khadgar’s ear. “Sharing a tent with the one you fought for.”

“I think I could warm up to tournaments after all.”


End file.
